


There Will Your Hallows Lie

by iNiGmA



Series: The Dumblewald Chronicles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Albus and Gellert meet Death, Blood Pacts, But Also Funny, Comedy, Community: grindeldore, Dimension Travel, Drama, Dramedy, Dumblewald, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Parody, Grindeldore, HPbattleships, M/M, POV Albus Dumbledore, Personification of Death, Romance, Summer 1899, Teen rated lemon, The Deathly Hallows, The Tale of the Three Brothers, Tragedy, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald, angsty, death is real, graphic depictions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iNiGmA/pseuds/iNiGmA
Summary: Albus and Gellert find themselves trapped in a fairy tale, and the only way out is to let the story play out. So can they wrangle the Hallows they desire straight out of Death's cold, rotted hands? And if they do, can they really keep them? Some fairy tales may be just a bit darker than they seem.





	1. A Deathly Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, I did not mean to write another Dumblewald! And yet I did. :)
> 
> This is written for HP Battleships, in answer to a very awesome prompt, AKA Prompt # 91:  
> "Characters A and B are pulled into a book. The only way out is to act out the story."  
> This story also utilizes items 54 and 79 from The List. :)  
> That is to say, a Muggle Vampire Convention, and a quote from Shakespeare. See if you can track them down. In fact, there are two.
> 
> This is a stand-alone story, however it's loosely related to my other Dumblewald, [ There Will Your Heart Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670735), so I've put them in the same series.
> 
> Huge thanks to [ Animalium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animalium) for betaing! And [ Farbautidottir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farbautidottir) for keeping me sane!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy. <3

* * *

**Chapter One:** _A Deathly Tale_

.

“ _There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…_ ”

The boy drew his delicate fingers across the crisp parchment of the page, seemingly caressing the words as he vocalized them into the cool summer air spilling in through the gaping windows. A lock of dark auburn hair fell across his face. Lazily, the other reached forward and pushed it aside. The boy drew in a sharp breath.

“Don’t stop. Your voice sings with the harmony of a thousand lutes. Keep reading, Albus.”

 _Albus_.

His heart sped up briefly at the sound of his name, all but jumping into his throat. He turned, his eyes momentarily abandoning the page, darting around to observe the emptiness of the room before getting lost in layers of blue as deep as an ocean. For a moment, he forgot everything else.

“I have only just started,” he said softly, a smile gracing his lips as his thoughts darted away, falling into memories of the previous night. A star-strewn summer sky painted above them. The flat, wide expanse of the roof. And they had finally… _had finally_... “Does it make you mad with desire already? Gellert?”

Gellert smirked, his golden curls framing his face as he tilted his head, his deep blue eyes gazing right into Albus’s soul. “No. _You_ are making me mad with desire, Albus. Again.”

He leaned forward, pushing his lips against Albus’s, and they lost themselves in the moment, Gellert’s hands roaming across Albus’s chest, grabbing fistfulls of his shirt to pull him closer. The book tumbled to the floor, the search for Hallows momentarily forgotten. It could have lasted all night. If Albus had a choice, it would have lasted forever.

As it was, it only lasted for five minutes before a disgusted cry shattered the passionate silence of the room, so loud that Albus heard it quite clearly over the furious sound of his heartbeat and of Gellert’s sweet, labored breaths.

“I knew it! I BLOODY KNEW IT!”

He pulled away, gasping, his heart pounding so loudly now that he could barely think. He was clever, he knew that. He was intelligent. Brilliant, even. And yet he could not form two words in the face of his fifteen-year old brother, who was glaring at them both, his face full of disgust. 

Silently, Albus pulled a slightly shaking hand away from Gellert’s shirt, where it had been working at the fastenings, and dropped it at his side. Too careless. They had grown foolhardy, counting on his brother’s constant absence as if it were a given.

“Skulking around all summer,” Aberforth spat at Albus, his face red. “Locked up together for hours. This is what you’ve been doing, is it? With _him_?” His mouth curled in disgust. The reaction stabbed Albus right through the heart. He could barely breathe.

“Be quiet, Goatforth,” Gellert said loftily. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. Your sister is upstairs, sleeping. You will wake her if you keep shouting so.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Aberforth fumed. “Get out of our house!”

“Aberforth,” Albus managed at last, steadying his voice. “I thought you were spending the evening helping Enid at the goat farm. We did not expect you for hours.”

Aberforth scoffed, stalking further into the room. “So you thought you’d have yourselves a right little party, did you? With Ariana just upstairs?”

Albus blushed furiously, drawing out a hand to push back Gellert, who had taken an enraged step in Aberforth’s direction. “Not at all.”

“Well,” Aberforth said angrily, “unlucky for you, Enid’s locked up the goats and turned in early.” He stepped closer and shoved his finger into Albus’s chest. “Didn’t feel like leaving them out. There’s a Muggle Vampire Convention at the Lion’s Inn, you see, and she’s worried some of our kind will take advantage. And then perhaps take a stroll around the outskirts, looking for an easy meal…” He scowled. “So here I am.”

“Yes, here you are,” Gellert said cooly. “How absolutely delightful.”

“Listen here, you bloody pillock—”

“I assure you,” Gellert said contemptuously, interrupting his tirade, “the last thing that I am is a fool. Now if you think you can just—”

“DO YOU THINK I CARE HOW SMART YOU THINK YOU ARE? MY BROTHER HAS BEEN INSUFFERABLE EVER SINCE YOU CAME ALONG!”

“Stop!” Albus said. “Both of you. Please.”

They ignored him. Gellert leaned down and snatched up the fallen copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ from where it had landed on the dusty floor and waved it in Aberforth’s face. “As if you understand your brilliant brother! I don’t suppose you even understand half of what’s in here, do you?” He smirked.

Aberforth scoffed. “If your reading material’s a book of children’s tales, you’re both even stupider than I thought. Borrowing from Ariana’s collection, are you?”

“You gormless tosser!” Gellert laughed. “This is not your _sister’s_! This book contains more information than you could ever comprehend.”

“Oh yeah?” Aberforth said angrily. “Yours, is it?” He whipped out his wand and stabbed it at the book before Gellert could yank it away. “ _Confringo!_ ”

“No!” Albus cried, his eyes widening at his brother’s foolishness as the spell hit the book before he could so much as reach for his wand. There was a thunderous blast, followed by a rushing sound that filled up his ears entirely, cutting out everything else as a blinding flash lit up the room. The sitting room melted, fading into white.

“Gellert!” he cried, whirling around, trying to blink the blinding whiteness out of his eyes. “Aberforth!”

He could not hear himself scream. The rushing was everything. It was as if the entire world was flowing past, like a vast river. And then the whiteness grew darker, softer. The sound of rushing faded, melting into the background. He could hear the soft rustling of wind now, playing amongst the trees. The night songs of the crickets and cicadas swelled upon the cool night air.

_Twilight._

He turned around, gaping. He stood along a narrow, tree-lined path. Several paces away stood Gellert, and still further along was Aberforth, his wand still raised. Both were staring around in bewilderment. Gellert recovered first, taking in his surroundings with narrowed eyes.

“Wonderful job,” he told Aberforth sarcastically. “Did you _mean_ to make a Portkey when you tried to blow us all up in your own living room?”

“Shut _up_! I don’t even—”

“Enough!” Albus said angrily, his voice actually rising enough for Gellert and his daft brother to stop arguing and turn to stare at him. He paused, taking a calming breath. Somehow, Aberforth had transported them to Merlin knew where, and now Ariana was home alone. The thought made him more uneasy than anything. If she awoke and found them gone… He mentally shook his head to clear it, gazing around to ascertain their surroundings. There was a river up ahead, and in the distance behind it, he could see the edges of a farm. Perhaps it could give them some idea of their location. It would be unwise to try and Apparate home before they sorted out where they were. If the calculations were off by even a few feet, they could easily get splinched. His mind ground to life, contemplating the specifics of the calculations that would be required. A thrilling challenge. He started toward the river. “This way.”

They followed him down the path, the rushing sound growing louder all the while. It was the river, Albus realized, that they had been hearing all along. It was both further away and much wider than it had appeared from afar. He frowned, looking over its tumultuous waters. They swirled, the raging currents dancing upon the surface, ready and willing to pull any fools who stepped within them into its depths. There was no bridge. They could magic their way across, but with Aberforth’s clearly shoddy abilities, a bridge might be a better solution to guarantee a safe crossing. He suggested as much to Gellert, trying to push aside the fleeting desire to push Aberforth into the water and be done with it, and reached for his wand.

“ _Exaedifico Pontem_ !” They cast the spell together, their voices forming a harmony, the thrill of it shooting through Albus. _It could be like this._ He and Gellert could have _forever_...exploring, researching, learning new magics...finding Hallows. He held on to the thought as he watched the bridge paint itself across the water, wood and stone twining firmly together in an artful display.

The bridge touched the opposite shore and settled, and Albus stepped confidently atop it, Gellert and Aberforth at his heels.

“Nice touches on the railing, Albus,” Gellert said as they made their way across. “I rather like the flowers you’ve added to the posts.” His voice was a seductive purr, and it made Albus‘s breath catch in his throat. “You have such fine taste, Albus. In fact, I think this bridge is rather making me mad with—”

“Stop,” Aberforth growled behind them. “Just stop.”

Gellert shrugged. “Albus, I think your brother is rather a bigot. How did your family produce such a prejudiced fool?”

“I ain’t prejudiced! I just can’t stand your face!”

Albus briefly shut his eyes and imagined how life would be if Aberforth got carried away by a goat. Ariana might be disappointed, but…

“Who are you?”

He stumbled to a halt, his eyes flying open, and saw a tall, hooded figure standing in the middle of the bridge, surrounded by an air of menacing decay. His eyes widened.

Gellert repeated his question, his wand snapping into his fingers. He aimed it at the figure blocking their path. “What do you want?”

The figure tilted its masked and hooded face, looking them over.

“Congratulations, brothers, on making your way across my river,” it said pleasantly. “What a fine display of magic. I am terribly impressed.”

“We are most certainly _not_ brothers!” Gellert said, frowning.

“Are you from the ruddy vampire convention?” Aberforth asked. “Take off the stupid hood!”

“Who are you?” Albus said softly, ignoring them both. The very air was humming with a feeling of foreboding, though neither Gellert nor Aberforth seemed to have noticed it.

“I am Death,” the figure breathed, stealing the air from Albus’s lungs. “And you, bridgemakers, can only be the brothers I have been waiting for. There are no others scheduled to join me by way of my river tonight.”

“You cannot be…” Albus’s mind was whirling. “This isn’t…”

“You’re _Death_?” Gellert said with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so? Well then, hand them over. The Hallows. Go on.”

“Well, yes, that is the general idea,” Death said in a rather foreboding voice. “I will reward you for crossing my river by giving each one of you one of my many Hallows. Which would you like?”

“All of them, obviously,” Gellert said, still smirking. He stuck out his hand. “I shall have the wand, and the stone...and the cloak, I suppose.”

“Gellert,” Albus hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “Stop! This is—”

“Death, right?” Gellert turned to him, still smirking. “You think I cannot tell? You think I cannot feel his presence? This is perfect. Our opportunity to get all three at once. We don’t even have to look.”

“You cannot be serious,” Albus said. “I do not know what is happening, but it could never be that easy.”

“I promise,” Death said, “it _is_ that easy. You can have all three right now.”

“What the actual fuck is going on?” Aberforth interrupted eloquently. “What _is_ this?”

Death folded his arms and stared at the three of them through his mask. “You do not want my Hallows?” he questioned Albus. “Are you really not the Peverell brothers?”

“I’m afraid not,” Albus said, his mind whirling. Everything Death said was absolutely bizarre, and yet he was absolutely certain it was true; could feel it in his bones. “I do not know how we came to be here, but we most certainly do not belong. We have to get back home.”

Gellert scowled. “Who _cares_ , Albus? This is our chance to get the Hallows!”

“I see,” Death said. He glared at them through his mask, and Albus felt an unyielding force wash over him. He gasped, stepping back, and felt his companions do the same beside him. When the pressure on his mind vanished, Death seemed to appraise them with new understanding.

“It appears you three have found yourself in a world quite apart from your own,” Death said, his tone unreadable. “Curse any books lately?”

“Yes,” Albus said nervously. “Yes, I do believe we have. Done both.” Aberforth blushed furiously at his side. “How can we return home?”

“A tale,” Death said softly. “You have found yourself within a tale. And _yet by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnished tale deliver._ And you must live the tale, with every breath and every sunrise. Until the final sunset. And when it sets on your story at last, when you meet me in the realm of shadows, then you may return, once more, to your light.”

“What?” Aberforth said blankly. “You’re as mad as a bag of goats. Piss off. I haven’t got time for this, my sister’s home alone waiting for me.”

He stepped toward Death, but Albus grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “You don’t understand,” he said sadly. “We are trapped in a story, Aberforth. And the only way to return home is to play it out to the end.”

Aberforth scoffed. “You’re mad! Have you been drinking again? I saw you having a go at the firewhisky.”

“Right,” Gellert said, his eyes all but glowing with enthusiasm. “So do we get to keep the Hallows, though?”

“Certainly,” Death said, spreading his arms wide. “All yours. Have you made your selection?”

“I shall have... _the wand_.” Gellert smiled widely. “The most powerful wand that will beat any wizard. So I shall never lose a duel.”

“Ah,” Death said. “Yes, first non-brother, I thought you may well ask, so I have already prepared it for you. I chopped down that fine tree there”— he nudged his head in the direction of the bank, where an Elder tree looked as if it had been brutally murdered — “in my spare time this morning.”

“Excellent,” Gellert said.

Death bowed, and when he raised his hooded head once more, a wand was laying on his palm, glowing softly. Albus’s eyes traveled along its many knobs, eyeing the delicate patterns carved into the elder wood, before Gellert snatched it eagerly and raised it in the fading light. His eyes were filled with an almost mad glow that made Albus quite uneasy.

“And you?” Death said, turning to him. “What gift would you like?”

“The stone,” Albus said softly. “The power to recall the dead. I shall take the stone.”

“Very well. A fine choice,” Death said. “They all look the same, so I’ll just pick one, shall I?”

Death lazily extended his hand, summoning a stone from the riverbank in silence, and held it out to Albus. So plain, so unassuming; it took Albus’s breath away. He reached for it with trembling fingers, letting them close around the cool weight of it. It was as if all his hopes and dreams had been solidified in the shape of a river rock.

“And you?” Death said at last, turning to Aberforth.

“He shall have nothing,” Gellert said disdainfully. “He is useless. I will take it.”

Death shook his finger, amused. “Do not be so greedy. Only one gift each.”

“What the hell are all of you on about?” Aberforth snapped, glaring between them. “You’re all mad. That’s it! I’m _leaving_ , and I swear, if any of you follow me—”

“An unobstructed escape,” Death said. “So you’d like my cloak of invisibility then, I suppose?”

“If you’re getting rid of the bloody thing, I’ll take it. Just hand it over then, and I’ll be on my way.”

“As you wish,” Death said, shrugging off his outer black cloak, to reveal another identical black cloak beneath it. The cloak seemed to shimmer in the moonlight as it moved through the air, its strands running together like water. It was as if its darkness was seeping out into the night, leaving only a pale shadow in its place. He handed it to Aberforth who took it with a surprising amount of gentleness, examining the material with awe.

“You now have your gifts,” Death said. “You are free to go, non-brothers. Until we meet again.” The smirk was quite evident in his voice.

“Right then,” Aberforth said, taking a step forward. “I dunno what you two tossers are planning, but _I’m_ going home.”

“Just a second,” Gellert said cooly. He raised the elder wand, and Albus felt the magic of it trailing through the night air, overflowing its wooden container, which barely held on to it. “The cloak. Give it here.”

“I don’t think so,” Aberforth said. “The hooded chap gave it to me, so far’s I see it, it’s mine.”

“You do not know half of what to do with it!” Gellert snapped.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“Let it go, Gellert,” Albus said, reaching for his arm. “That is not how the story goes.”

“Who cares about the fairy tale,” Gellert said, his eyes wide. “I say we just stay here! We have two Hallows now, and in a moment we shall have three. We shall be Masters of Death at last, Albus!” He raised the wand higher, aiming it at Aberforth. “ _Accio cloak!_ ”

“Piss off!” Aberforth snapped, and he twirled the cloak around himself, vanishing into the darkness. Gellert cursed.

“Where did he go!” he roared, whirling around and shooting spells carelessly into the night as Albus grabbed him from behind and pulled him back, panting from the effort.

“Stop!” Albus cried, pulling Gellert’s frame against his own, his arms firmly around the other’s chest as magic bounced around the bridge. “Enough!” 

The darkness around them had softened, glowing with residual trails of magic that lit up the cloudless sky, their shadows reflecting in the churning water below.

“ _Where is your bloody brother?!_ ” Gellert all but howled.

“He is gone,” Death said simply. They whirled, surprised to find him still standing there. “You cannot follow.”

“Gone?” Albus said, his voice rising anxiously. “Gone _where?_ ”

Death shrugged. “Here. There. My world. Yours. Who knows. Doesn’t matter.” He lifted his hands, the smirk clearly written in his tone. “In the end, he is mine.”

The words filled Albus with a profound chill.

Gellert cursed again, shrugging off Albus’s grip and stepping to the side of the bridge, where he leaned over the railing and looked out across the water. Finally, he turned back, his features set in a scowl.

“Let us go, Albus. We’ll track him down.”

“All right.” Albus was not entirely sold on Gellert’s intentions but he turned to follow, glancing back at Death as he walked past while his conflicting feelings battled for purchase. Gellert was right, of course. They wanted the Hallows. And yet, they were playing a rather dangerous game. And Aberforth was playing it quite alone now.

“You shall have them all, you know,” Death said softly, his voice all but pinning Albus in place. “And it will be quite devastating, really. What we think we want is often not what we want at all.”

“I doubt that,” Albus managed, though the words left him quite shaken. He hurried after Gellert, the stone clenched so tightly in his hand, it left an impression upon his palm. After a moment he glanced back, but Death had melted into the night.

* * *

Gellert was fuming. They had walked for hours and had not tracked down Aberforth. They had not eaten nor rested, and now Gellert was not simply angry, but very, very hangry.

“Where did he go?” He whirled on Albus, all but spitting out the words. “Where is your deranged, thieving brother? I will murder him. I _will_!”

“Gellert,” Albus said calmly. “You cannot murder my brother. I would be most displeased with you. We would have to stop seeing each other.”

“But, Albus, we were so _close_!” Gellert’s voice was a pitiful whine. Albus would have found it unattractive, had he not been so attracted to Gellert’s endlessly blue eyes, which were currently the frontrunner of his best qualities. And then there were the graceful curls of his golden hair, falling in ringlets around his slightly sweaty face...

Albus sighed and shook his head. “Gellert, this is counterproductive. You are not a murderer, despite your proclivity for necromancy. And Aberforth is long gone. Listen...this morning we had no Hallows, and now we have _two_. This is incredible progress. Look, there is an inn up ahead. It is late. Let us rest for the night and continue our search tomorrow.”

“If you insist,” Gellert said, sulking. “I hope they cook better than you do.” He strode off toward the inn.

Albus was flabbergasted. “But — but, Gellert!” he said weakly, hurrying after the other. “I thought you said my cooking was… _getting significantly better,_ and you were _quite proud of everything I had achieved in the domestic arts in a short space of time!_ ”

Gellert turned back, glancing at Albus with pity. “Ah, Albus,” he said sadly, “I apologize. I am much too hungry and angry to lie to you right now.”

With that, he continued ahead to the inn with haste, a slightly disappointed Albus trekking behind him.

* * *

“Unnatural!”

The growling voice snapped Albus out of his daze, and he raised his head, squinting to make out the burly, bearded stranger who was glaring at them. They had finally arrived at the Big Sleep Inn, where they had indulged in ample portions of potato soup and fresh-baked bread in the common area, which was still lively despite the lateness of the hour. Several musicians had been playing the lute and singing from a raised platform in one corner, and the large fire burning in the hearth was basking the whole room in warmth. Full of warm soup and bread, Albus had fallen into a doze, his head resting against the firmness of Gellert’s reassuring presence beside him. Now, however, his content mood dissipated as he blinked into awareness to find that the climate of the room had turned quite a bit colder.

The man was scowling at them, his face set in disgust. “Vile,” he spat, his eyes roving over Gellert’s arm, which was resting casually around Albus’s waist. “This is blasphemy. Your kind isn’t welcome here. Get out, before you befoul us with your presence.”

Gellert squeezed his arm tighter around Albus, glaring right back at the man.

“You have no idea who you are talking to,” he said disdainfully. “Sod off.”

“Like hell I will!” The man was fuming, his face turning red in the pale glow of the fire. He flicked his hand in agitation, until his wand slid into his palm, and he pointed it at Gellert and Albus. “I will be happy to forcibly remove you, lest you besmirch this fine establishment.”

Albus tore his eyes away from the wand, glancing around warily. The common area had turned to silence, the musicians pausing in their playing, and their little drama was unfolding center-stage. The remaining patrons — ones seemingly unwilling to leave the warmth and company of the common area for their cold, empty rooms — eyed them apprehensively, their expressions a mixture of disgust, untempered excitement, and unease. Several men with tankards two tables away banged them on the table in anticipation.

“You tell ‘em, Ardan!” one of them called drunkenly. “You have ‘em bugger on off.” The man let out a loud laugh, and his tablemates joined in.

Gellert’s cheeks flushed angrily. “Do you have a problem with us?” he said icily. “Let us be, or you will regret it.” The elder wand was clenched tightly in his hand now, and Albus could feel the essence of magic coursing through it.

“Gellert,” he said softly. “I do not think this is wise.”

“That’s right,” the man — Ardan — spat, “that would not be wise at all, boy.” He brought his wand closer, poking the end of it into Gellert’s cheek. “But I reckon I can fix you up. Get that unnaturalness out of your head. Your parents will surely thank me. _Cerebri_ —”

Gellert reacted like lightning. With a hiss like an angry cat, he brandished his wand, sending Ardan flying backwards. He crashed into several tables with a bang, knocking them over as patrons darted out of the way and screams filled the room. Gellert was on his feet before Albus had taken a breath, his wand throbbing with magic in his hand; so powerful, the flow of energy around it was clearly visible. It seemed to come alive in Gellert, his golden curls fluttering softly in the charged air

“You dare!” Gellert hissed, advancing on Ardan, who was scrambling to find his feet. “You think you can just attack _us_? Do you have any idea who I am?”

He sliced the elder wand through the air, calling up a burst of wind that pushed the man back further.

“I am _Gellert Grindelwald_ ,” he hissed, taking slow steps forward as more wind rent the air. “ _Remember it_. I will be Master of Death. I will reform the Ministry. _With Albus at my side_. An attack on him”— he sent more wind forth, knocking over the nearest table and sending it tumbling across the floor with a roar like thunder—“is an attack on _me_! I shall not have it!”

“ _Expulso!_ ” Ardan managed, scrambling to his knees and sending a flash of blue at Gellert, who deflected it easily before pushing Ardan back again with a flick of his wrist. 

He smirked. “You are child’s play. Pathetic.”

“Gellert,” Albus said finally, his tone so commanding that Gellert paused, turning back to look at Albus as he stepped up beside him. “That is enough. I think he has understood the message.”

“Only for you, my love,” Gellert said easily, lowering his wand. “If you are satisfied, I shall let this fool go.”

“You do not wish to kill him, after all,” Albus said softly.

A shadow crossed Gellert’s face. “Of course not.” He turned, his fingers lightly caressing Albus’s hand as they stepped away from the destruction that hung over the room like a shadow. “I could not let him defile your honor, Albus. But I do think he understands now.”

“Bloody poofs!” Ardan gasped, from where he was sprawled on the floor. “You will pay for this. _Cru_ —”

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Gellert roared, whirling around again and sending the spell off in a fire of red fury. It hit Ardan with such force that it threw him back into the far wall, the entire room shaking from the impact. He slid down to the floor and lay there in a heap, unmoving. 

Gellert was panting, his eyes wild. “There,” he hissed. “Enough out of him.”

Albus couldn’t help but agree. The man was foul, but he would give them no more trouble tonight. And tomorrow morning they would be on their way. He reached for Gellert’s hand and pulled him toward the stairs, stepping around the wreckage of the tables as Ardan’s friends hurried to collect him, giving Albus and Gellert a wide berth.

“ _Rennervate!_ ” the man who had banged the tankard said urgently, dropping down beside Ardan. There appeared to be no response for he cast the spell again. Albus and Gellert kept walking, unconcerned, when screams and gasps echoed behind them.

Albus paused, glancing back uneasily. Tankard Man had risen, pointing a trembling finger accusingly in their direction.

“He is not waking! He is _dead_!”


	2. Destiny

**Chapter Two:** _Destiny_

_._

_Dead._

The word echoed through Albus, breaking him into a hundred pieces with edges so jagged, he did not think he could ever put them right. He inhaled sharply, forcing air into his lungs, oxygen into his brain. _Dead?_ How could he possibly be dead? _Stupefy_ was not a killing curse. Surely, _surely_ , Gellert had not intended murder.

Almost unwillingly, he glanced at Gellert, searching his blue eyes for some hint of… _what?_ Apology? Remorse?

Gellert looked satisfactorily shaken, enough to settle some of Albus’s doubts. He took a hesitant half-step back, his deep blue eyes sweeping across the scene.

Half a dozen men were crowded around Ardan’s fallen shape, all glaring at them accusingly. The man was still standing, anger and fear warring across his face.

“He is not breathing!” he said, his shaking hand still pointing in Gellert’s direction. “Yeh killed him! _Murderer!_ ”

“Nonsense,” Gellert said, though his face was rather pale and his voice lacked conviction. “I have merely stunned him. You are simply too drunk to cast the Reviving Spell properly.”

“I ain’t too drunk for shit!” the man roared. “He is not breathing. See for yerself!”

Gellert rolled his eyes but didn’t move any closer. Albus squeezed his hand briefly and then approached the fallen man.

“ _Rennervate_ ,” he said softly. There was no response. He leaned down, placing two fingers to Ardan’s neck. _Nothing_. Dread settled thickly around him. He glanced at Gellert, their eyes meeting. The silent communication was so clear that words would be nothing but an unnecessary refrain. He stood up gracefully, retreating as Gellert glanced around the room, his eyes hardening.

“Well,” Gellert said, “so — so he is.” He seemed to steel himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was harder. Stronger. “But, of course, you can hardly be surprised. We are Masters of Death. _And Death himself handed his wand over to me_ , as he bowed before my power. As he prostrated himself at _my_ feet!” His voice grew louder, more confident as he whirled around the room, glaring at the remaining patrons. “Death _himself_ has chosen Ardan to join him in his shadowy halls. So you see, you cannot defeat me, nor this wand. Go on, have a go! Any of you! You would be fools to try! But I am up to the challenge. Death stands behind me, hungry for more! Well?! Any takers?”

There was no response. It was as if the entire room were holding its breath.

“That’s what I thought!” Gellert spat. “Attack either of us and you will regret it. I am unbeatable.”

He spun around, grabbed a flagon of firewhisky off the nearest table and stalked out of the room. With a last fleeting glance at the angry faces around them, Albus hurried after him, his fingers clenching against the coolness of the stone in his pocket.

* * *

Gellert was inconsolable.

“I killed him, Albus,” he said, slurring his words as he tipped back the last of the firewhisky. “I Stunned him, and now he is dead. He is _dead_.”

“Shh,” Albus said, gently working the empty flagon out of Gellert’s hands and placing it down on the bedside table. “It is all right. It was not your fault.”

“But, Albus,” Gellert moaned, pressing his hands against his face. “I did not mean to kill him. You know I did not.”

“I know,” Albus whispered soothingly. “ _I know_. It is all right, Gellert. Go to sleep. It will be all right in the morning.”

“How can you possibly still love me now?”

“Of course I do,” Albus whispered. “You did not mean it. You are not a murderer. I love you more than anything. More than air. More than life.”

“Then kiss me,” Gellert demanded. “Kiss me, Albus. Prove it. Love me.”

“Always,” Albus breathed, leaning down and planting his lips against Gellert’s.

The taste of firewhisky mixed with salt, swirling upon his tongue as Gellert grasped at him, his tongue sloppily pushing into Albus’s mouth. His hands pulled Albus ever closer, as if he wished to push out the memories of the night and fill their void with Albus’s warm body, until there was no room left for anything else. He moaned against Albus’s mouth, and Albus realized, as he ran his hands through Gellert’s curls, that he was crying; the tears slipping silently down his cheeks along with his remaining innocence. Albus raised his head, gently kissing the tears away. He trailed his hands across Gellert’s chest, pulling roughly at the fastenings of his shirt until it fell upon the bed. If Gellert wanted Albus to help him forget, if but for a moment, then so he would. So he would.

* * *

Later, as the hours ticked slowly into early morning and Gellert fell into an exhausted sleep at last, Albus silently left the room and slipped down the stairs, his footsteps softer than air. He paused at the entrance to the common area, his eyes sweeping across the remains of the fight, positively ghastly in the darkness. The tables lay where they had been abandoned, still overturned and scattered upon the floor in pieces; their remains grisly evidence of the crime that had rocked this tiny inn.

Ardan’s body was gone, and Albus vaguely wondered where it had gone. Who had taken it? There would be consequences, and he was unsure how long Gellert could evade them. Was shocked, really, that Ministry wizards had not barged in upon them as they lay naked upon the bed, tangled in each other’s arms. Perhaps Gellert’s threat had been effective. Perhaps there was no Ministry. He was uncertain of his footing. He was trapped in a story that was so familiar he should have memorized every detail, and yet he still felt as if he were wading out into uncertain waters. They had changed everything. And now he did not know quite where they stood. Only that it had to end.

But he could not think about that, could not contemplate what lay at its sad conclusion. His thoughts were filled only with Gellert, who was softer beneath his rough edges than Albus could have ever imagined. Who might break from his unintended actions alone.

Albus sat down on the edge of the stairs, rolling the smooth stone between his fingers as he listened to the soft sounds of rain drumming on the walls of the inn. He could use it. If Gellert’s wand had ended the foul man’s life, perhaps he could bring it back. Perhaps that would fix Gellert...fix everything.

And yet he wondered if he could really do it. Perhaps, perhaps it was... _better_ this way. For the greater good, really. The world was a better place with certain...certain people not spreading their hatred. They had a vision, he and Gellert. A vision for a better world, and sometimes, he knew, sacrifice was necessary. Sometimes he had to make the hard choices. Death had chosen to take the man, after all. If they wanted to make a difference…

_But Gellert._

Albus sighed, his eyes sweeping the room again. The road ahead was hard. The Hallows were still incomplete. They needed to find Aberforth; they needed the _cloak_. If he recalled the story, the second brother had used the stone alone to revive his lover, and brought back only a shadow—

Albus froze, stumbling to his feet with a gasp as his thoughts shattered to fragments.

He was such a fool. A bloody _fool._

He whirled, racing back up the steps as fast as his feet would carry him, silently praying all the while. 

The door to their room was ajar, and his heart froze in his throat as he hesitated for a fraction of a second before pushing it open. But it was no good. He _knew_ , with an agonizing certainty, what he would find long before he stepped inside. The metallic scent of blood hung thick upon the air, coating his breath with the hard weight of destiny.

He stumbled into the room, the air almost too heavy to breathe. His head spinning. Thunder echoed across the sky, shaking the very foundations of the inn, and then lighting flashed through the rain-soaked windows, throwing the heart-wrenching scene into sharp relief.

The elder wand was gone. 

And Gellert lay still upon the bed, a jagged gash splitting his throat, which had, just a few hours past, been covered in Albus’s sweetest kisses. It was soaked, now, in thick red blood. The final remains of his life trailing away to stain the bed sheets. To soak into the mattress.

_Gone._

“No..”

_He was gone._

Albus collapsed to his knees, a painful sob wrenching his chest. “No! Gellert!”

_Dead._

The room was blurry now, soaked with his tears. Surely, his grief had split the skies, because the rain coated everything with his anguish.

He found his feet once more, stumbling blindly to Gellert’s side. He was grasping at Gellert, reaching for him. His hands were slick with blood, his clothes stained with red. He was drowning in anguish, unable to think, to breathe. It was pain as he had never imagined. Had never allowed himself to feel.

And then, without being aware of it, without thinking it through, he grasped the warm stone — so hot it seemed to burn with the strength of his soul against his freezing body — and turned it thrice in his hand, hoping. Hoping.

_Hoping…_

.

.

.

“Albus.”

He turned. His eyes were puffy, tear-filled. He squinted, his arms still clenched around Gellert’s broken, bleeding body.

“Albus, I’m…”

Gellert was laying there, on the bed, his blazing spirit gone. A shell. And yet, he was standing by the window, glowing in the pale pre-dawn light that was beginning to filter in through the streaked glass.

He was neither ghost nor flesh. Solid, and yet not. Shimmering like the sweetest memory. Like a phoenix. The most beautiful thing Albus had ever seen.

“Albus,” Gellert said again, his voice petulant, almost a whine. “I’m a bloody _ghost_!”

Albus was on his feet before he remembered how to stand; at Gellert’s side before he was aware of moving.

“You’re the most bloody beautiful ghost I have ever seen,” he gasped, and then his lips were on Gellert’s freezing ones, and he knew, then, that he would never, _never_ , let go.

* * *

“Well, our relationship was always a bit unusual,” Gellert said, as they sat cuddled together on the floor, Mortal Gellert’s body still on the bed behind them in the slowly lightening room. Albus refused to look at it. “First we were two men in love, and now we are a man and a man-ghost in love. Let them judge, I say. Now, where is my elder wand?”

“Gone, I’m afraid,” Albus said.

“Well, we have to get it back, don’t we! Let us go, Albus. Let us avenge my murder!”

“Gellert,” Albus said, grasping at Gellert’s icy hand. “I think we should let the Hallows go. We have lost two. But we still have each other. If we lose the third, I cannot bear to think you may be truly gone. And how do you propose to rule as a shade?”

“Nonsense, Albus,” Gellert said. “Nothing says Master of Death like actually being dead and then coming back to life. They will all bow before us. You will see.”

He flashed briefly transparent, floated to his feet, and then regained a semi-solid appearance and offered Albus his hand. “Come, Albus, we must go. I have several people to murder before the day is out. I am feeling rather hungry. I think I may try sucking out their souls. Do you suppose that may satisfy me?”

“Well,” Albus admitted, allowing Gellert to pull him to his feet, “it _does_ sound rather protein-heavy. And very hydrating.”

“Excellent,” Gellert said.

“I did not think shades ate souls,” Albus said, trailing after Gellert.

“I did not either,” Gellert admitted. “But I have cravings, Albus! I shall like to feed on a soul!”

“You sound like some sort of drug-addled dementor…”

Gellert smiled. “Ah, perhaps we can use them to build an army. I could send them soul-hunting on my behalf!”

He grinned brilliantly and floated down the stairs — hovering a foot above the ground — leading Albus down after him. They reached the foot of the stairs when they froze, both staring at the scene before them.

The rising sun was cresting through the grimy windows, backlighting a positive mob of wizards and witches who filled the entire space of the inn’s common area, their wands pointing threateningly at Albus. He backed up, stumbling slightly over the step behind him as he appraised their reception, his hand searching for his wand.

“Murderer,” a man said accusingly. His face was in shadow, but Albus recognized his voice from the previous night — the man who had held the tankard, who had pronounced Ardan dead. The wand in his hand was painfully familiar, its round knobs glinting in the warm glow of the morning sun.

“I have carried out justice,” the man continued, his voice hard. “I have delivered it to your sinful partner. And now it is your turn to join him.”

“You gormless cad!” Gellert spat, inflating with rage beside Albus. “You sorry bastard! How dare you! Return my wand! _I will end you!_ ”

“Prepare to die,” the man continued, as if he had not heard Gellert. “You may be strong, but you cannot outfight us all.”

“I will suck out all of your souls!” Gellert seethed.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” the man continued, and Albus could just barely make out his face now in the harsh light. It was gleefully, madly alive. “No last words?”

“You cannot end us,” Albus said softly. “Do not be foolish enough to think you could take us on.”

“Us?” The man let out a raucous laugh. “There is only you. And no matter how strong you are, you cannot defeat all fifty of us. It’s over.”

The others shifted around him, drawing closer, their wands aimed threateningly at Albus’s chest, and he realized, then, that Gellert did not exist. Not outside his heart.

“ _Diffindo!_ ” the man screamed, and the spell — powered by the elder wand— broke through the shield Albus conjured up and sliced painfully into his arms, leaving trails of red upon his shirt. The spell seemed to serve as a signal to the rest, and they attacked Albus in a fury. He conjured more shields, trying to hold them off as they bore down on him in righteous rage, their sheer volume overpowering.

Gellert shot off through the mob with a savage wildness, grasping at bodies, reaching for souls. But he could not make contact; could not touch them. And Albus knew, as he fought off the overwhelming tide that rushed at him, that he was alone. _He was alone._

He lost track of the spells. They were still flying, he was still sending out countercurses, but his mind was growing weary. Foggy.

“I’m sorry.” Gellert’s voice broke through the cacophony, softer than the sweetest song. “I am so sorry, Albus. _I am so sorry._ ”

And he was bleeding. Breaking. His body in more pain than he had ever felt, his clothes drenched and sodden with red. The smell of his own blood was overwhelming. Metallic. There was something burning. His shirt was scorching his skin. And he was on his knees...falling. The stairs digging painfully into his back as the shouts in his ears grew distorted, beating against his head like a mallet. And he knew, as he searched for Gellert’s face in the dimming blackness that pulled at the edges of his vision, that the sun was setting at last. The world was upside down. And the sunrise was setting, its redness bleeding across his vision as the world faded steadily to black.

And then Gellert was there, his face Albus’s entire world.

“Come with me,” he whispered, his lips drawing closer. “It is all right. It is not so bad, Albus. We will be together.

“There rest,” Albus gasped, the words soothing, somehow, at the end. Gellert was gone, but he would shortly follow. And they would never be apart again. “ _There rest and let me die._ ”

And then Gellert’s cold lips pressed against his own, and the taste of Gellert was swirling on his tongue. Blood. Salt. And firewhisky. An all-consuming cold seeped through him, stealing the last bits of warmth, and the glorious sunrise bathed his world in black.

* * *

_Sunrise._

He blinked, his bleary eyes sharpening, the hard edges of Gellert’s jaw coming into focus. He reached out a hand, tracing it across the other’s cheek. Running his fingers through Gellert’s golden curls, strewn out in a messy tangle upon the sun-warmed asphalt.

The roof.

He frowned, glancing around in confusion. Gellert’s arms were wrapped firmly around him, his robes pulled around them like a blanket. The surface of the roof as soft as a cloud. As he gazed around, trying to sort out his thoughts, Gellert uncurled against him and lazily opened his eyes, his gaze trailing across Albus’s lips before meeting his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

“Good morning…” Albus felt shaken, unsure. He grasped at Gellert, his body shaking. _Warm_. He was so warm.

Gellert frowned. “Albus, what is wrong? Did you not enjoy last night? Was it not wonderful?”

“Oh, Gellert,” Albus whispered, his voice breaking. “I had such a dream. _A terrible dream._ Aberforth found us out...and he did not approve. And then _Death_ gave us the Hallows. But you died. And _I_ died. And we lost everything. Except, I think, each other. In the end, at least, we were together.”

He buried his face in Gellert’s bare chest, and Gellert wrapped his arms around Albus’s trembling form.

“Shhh,” Gellert whispered. “It is all right. It is not real, Albus. I am here. _We_ shall find the Hallows ourselves…and we _will_ always be together. We will master death, Albus. We need never die. Last night we made the pact… Do you remember?”

“Of course,” Albus whispered, the memories drifting back now. “Of course. Together, always.”

“Always,” Gellert said gently. “Now let us return. Your sister will be awakening soon, and she will wonder where you went.”

“Yes,” Albus said, squeezing Gellert’s hand before they clambered to their feet, donned their clothes, and slipped back down from the roof. A rooster was crowing, its cry heralding the beginning of a bright new day.

He squinted into the distance as he slipped back into his second-floor window. He could just make out the silhouettes of several hooded figures walking along the outer edge of the village, carrying the stiff carcass of an animal between them. 

He frowned. If he didn’t know any better, if the Muggle Vampire Convention had not been but a dream, he would have said they were vampires, feeding on a stolen goat.

But that was rather as silly as getting sucked into a fairy tale.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and if you feel like leaving one...huge, huge thanks!
> 
> And feel free to check out [ There Will Your Heart Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670735) if you are craving more Dumblewald! This story would fit into that one between chapters 3 and 4.
> 
> Thanks all!  
> Rina


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